The Alfred Jones's Diary
by SomethingSimsy
Summary: FrUSUK Bridget Jones AU FrUS USUK / Alfred Jones is a clueless blond newly employed under the seductive Francis Bonnefoy, but the humdrum of the office is quickly turned on its head when Alfred is thrown between the flirtatious and sexy Monsieur Bonnefoy and the cold yet cute, sweater-suffocating Mr Kirkland as he discovers love, drama, and what it means to keep a diary!
1. 1: Jones, a Job and Monsieur Bonnefoy

**Was watching TV when this hit me like a tonne of bricks. **

**I was like yes. So much yes. YEEEEESS- **

**The unedited art in the cover photo has a link on my profile. **

**Okay. This is loosely based off of the plot of **_**The Bridget Jones's Diary**_**, bits and pieces of the movies anyway, which I love. As you may have guessed, the actor Grant has instead had a name-change to Bonnefoy and Firth to Kirkland, and the character of Jones to… Jones. **

**Aha. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own the characters presented in this fanfiction or Hetalia**

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><p><strong>The Alfred Jones's Diary<strong>

**Chapter 1: Jones, a Job and Monsieur Bonnefoy**

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><p>"So, you are sure you want this job, Monsieur Jones?"<p>

Alfred F. Jones looked up, his face frozen as his eyes stared at Monsieur Bonnefoy, the pink bubble sticking out of his mouth bursting with an almighty _pop _as it deflated all over his face, where he slowly lapped it up like a cat. "I'm sorry," he said loudly, Monsieur Bonnefoy wincing as some spit landed just a centimetre from his perfect face, "what was that?"

"I said," Monsieur Bonnefoy snapped with a bit of a bite, but a sneaky grin twisted his face nonetheless, his eyes half-lidded with mirth, "I am willing to offer you the job, Jones. Of course," he said, his eyes falling a bit below the waistline on his newest employee who innocently looked down at his own lap in time, and Bonnefoy slowly laughed, "you are quite the catch, Jones. A real _beau_ in a sea of–"

"So did I get the job or what?" Jones innocently – yet painfully loudly – asked as Bonnefoy had to sit back a bit from the force. He looked irritated, but he quickly smiled gently nonetheless, pulling at the collar of his shirt and loosening the first button even looser than it already was – needless to say, it was now completely open. His pale chest was exposed, and a wisp of dark chest hair poked through. Alfred gawked, but he didn't seem to notice himself. "Hey, shouldn't you put your shirt on a bit bet–?"

Suddenly a loud _beep _tone buzzed through from within the office, and Bonnefoy sighed as he rose from his chair behind his desk gracefully like a stalk. He walked to the phone, his hips swishing as he sent his seductive gaze back at Jones. Jones, however, was off in space somewhere, blowing bubble-gum again, and Bonnefoy could only growl irritably under his breath as he yanked the phone from its holder, startling Alfred and quickly gaining his unneeded attention. "_Bonjour_," he barked into the phone.

"_C-ciao_,Francis, some scary guy with huge eyebrows wants to come meet you!" a high-pitched, shrill voice squeaked over the line and Francis could only sigh. He was _way _too tired and _way _too old for this. Alfred, meanwhile, could only stare with an eyebrow raised. Francis took him no notice, as the man on the other line had started to almost scream again. "H-he says he's a _lawyer _and lawyers are _scary–!_"

Suddenly the shrill voice was cut off with a piercing squeak as the phone was obviously moved (from the weird scratchy noises it made, which in turn made Bonnefoy wince as his ears began to bleed). "Francis, I need to talk to you, _now_," a harsh voice barked down the line, and Francis smirked as he immediately recognised the stern yet upper class British accent to be none other than the grouchy little Kirkland's. "Francis? _Francis_, are you even _there?_"

Francis' brained ignored the droning drawl of Mr Kirkland as his eyes instead landed on the young American sat in his office, swivelling around on his office chair as he smiled to himself, bubble-gum growing out of his mouth as it suddenly banged with another _pop_, causing the American to jump slightly despite the fact it was his own doing.

Francis' devious smirk grew tenfold. This was _perfect. _He zoned into Kirkland again, who, as it happened, was coming to an end of his rant. "_–Francis Bonnefoy_, you will listen to me and I _demand _respect–!"

"And respect you will get, Arthur," Francis purred into the line, his baby blue eyes travelling to the young American again, "but, please, hand the phone back to the man you stole it from, you little thief." Francis heard Arthur growl, and his smile only grew wider above his blonde-stubbled chin. "Feliciano," Francis said, and the screechy-voiced man from before made a small whine of acknowledgement, "send the man up. I have someone for him to meet."

Francis put the phone down.

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><p><strong>I am excited and I don't know why. This will be so much fun, haha! Gotta love love-triangles, m'I right? M'I RIGHT?<strong>

**Please stay tuned!**


	2. 2: The Text, the Hex and the Call of Sex

**OMG, you have no idea how many times I re-wrote this. This is probably like the 5****th**** time. **

**But, on a positive note, there will be a lot more, *flicks hair dramatically whilst winking at the camera*, **_**drama…**_

**Yeah probably not that much I'll just**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own the characters presented in this fanfiction or Hetalia**

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><p><strong>The Alfred Jones's Diary<strong>

**Chapter 2: The Text, the Hex and the Call of Sex**

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><p>Francis placed the phone down, gently as a feather, as his determined blue gaze turned to Alfred expectedly. And Alfred stared right back, and scratched the back of his head. "So, sir, if ya don't mind me asking, what was that about?"<p>

Francis shook his head with a playful smile on his face before he went back to his desk. "Oh, nothing. I'm just expecting a delivery. But I would like to give you a number," Francis said with a smile as he scribbled something down on a scrap of paper and handed it across the desk, right into Alfred's pink hands. "You have a phone on you, _non? _Please, text this number whatever you'd like."

Alfred blinked, studied the number on the paper, and then looked up. "Why? Whose is it?"

Francis' grin seemed to stretch at that, and Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Oh, don't worry about that," Francis said distantly, "it's just an ugly girl I know who needs some, how would you say, picking up?"

Alfred frowned. "You want me to text this girl and go out with her because she's ugly?" Francis nodded, and Alfred pouted. "Is she even nice?"

Francis stifled a chuckle. "Oh, yes, of course she is. She's just a bit of a… hardboiled candy, with a chocolate centre, hm?"

Alfred frowned again. "Um, that sounded kinda disgusting–"

"I think that's just up to interpretation," Francis sighed, then grinned again. "Now, now, text her. Oh! Right, right, I almost forgot," Francis chuckled, and he pulled open a drawer in his desk to reveal a diary. He passed it over the desk and gave it to Alfred, too. "This is your work diary, but you can use it for anything else, too. For example, how about if anything interesting happens with that 'girl' there?"

"Um… okay?" Alfred said as he pocketed the book. "So, can I go now?"

"Sure, sure, your work hours will start tomorrow," Francis waved his hand, his blue eyes never leaving Alfred's now retreating figure, "just make sure to use that diary – and _don't _forget about texting! I will pay you bonus."

The door to his office closed with a _bang_, and Francis sank back in his chair with a superior smirk settled upon his face. _And now things get interesting, hm?_

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><p>Alfred Jones walked into the elevator that greeted him, and realised with a light sigh he was alone. What was it about texting that girl again? Eh, well, he got a bonus, so he might as well.<p>

He brought out his phone and, with a quick swipe of a few buttons, he texted the number on the paper one simple phrase:

_Hey bby, how's it goin? ;)_

He waited, pulling a _not bad _face with a two light nods of his head, and slipped his phone back in his pocket.

Little did he know what kind of stir this would cause later down the line.

Rather, three seconds later.

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><p>"'Hey, baby, <em>how's it going?<em>'" Arthur shouted as he pushed the chair back with an almighty _scrape _and a _bang. _

Francis was rather underwhelmed, but nodded nonetheless. "Well, it got the job done, at least, didn't it?"

"What do you _mean _'it got the job done'?" Arthur spluttered, his face going red from a humiliating mix of anger, frustration and big, fat, sparkling embarrassment. "I do not need one of your office prostitutes, Francis, whether their name is Ricky Cucumber, Wild Woody, or Big Al!"

"…'Big Al' might actually be appropriate."

"_Urgh!_" Arthur groaned in frustration as he slumped himself down in Francis' guest chair, burying his head in his hands. "Why do you do this to me every time I visit you, might I say on the law's call?"

"Because," Francis chuckled, "it's just so fun!" He smiled but, noticing Arthur's genuine anguish as he continued to hide his face with light growls, he sighed and lightly frowned. "_Mon ami_, you are just so lonely, no? All you have for comfort is your endless supply of wool sweaters and your rather clammy hand."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and lifted away his hands… not before awkwardly looking at them and then wiping them on of his wool sweaters with a red haze hanging on his cheeks and ears. _Crap. He might actually be right._ "What about this is supposed to be encouraging–?"

"This," Francis said with a smile. "The one texting you is a hot girl, a new employee in my office."

Arthur felt his brow lower as he slowly turned his chair around, glancing through the windows of Francis' office as his eyes swept every person there… "It's not Feliks, is it?"

"No," Francis reassured, and he heard Arthur's chest physically force out a sigh. "Not that he's that bad, anyway. Better looking than you." Arthur opened his mouth to protest so Francis quickly continued, saying, "I want you to be happy, Arthur, so let me help you, hm?"

"…Fine," Arthur settled on saying, "Now, onto more important matters. Let's see how your court case is coming about hiring that prostitute, shall we?" He shuffled some papers, trying to look Francis in the eye put groaning in the back of his throat as Francis refused to meet his bright green gaze. "Francis, is there a problem?"

"No," Francis said quickly, and he looked up at Arthur with a smile.

"Good," Arthur said, his brow still furrowed as he wallowed in Francis' troubles (even if they were barely on speaking terms, Arthur still had it in him to care for his peculiar client). "Now, tell me, Francis, what was their name? Did they tell you?"

"Yes, I know it," Francis said vaguely and, with a twiddle of a lock of his hair, he finally settled on saying, "and their name is Matthew. Matthew Williams."

And from there on, nothing in the office would ever be the same again.

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><p><strong>That drama! This is getting a little darker than first impressions made but, don't worry, there is nothing incredibly sinister at work here. Trust me; everything will, at some point, run <strong>_**quite **_**smoothly – including my update schedule!**


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